Rhune Shadow Read online

  Himilco sucked in his breath as the emerald vibrated in his lap. Lines appeared in his forehead and his breathing deepened as he focused his will. An ache began to throb in his head. This was going to prove harder than he had imagined. His eyes narrowed until his thoughts seemed to push against weights in the emerald.

  I will break through the murk guarding Ophion’s wagon. It became a litany.

  Himilco groaned, as the ache in his mind became a spike of pain. His vision blurred, but he refused to quit as his will moved through defenses as dark as cuttlefish ink. He brought his hurt pride into play. They used me.

  In the swirling, inky emerald, a tiny hole of light appeared. Himilco bent lower as he summoned his will, using it to grip the sides of the hole and push the edges wider. As if he bent before a keyhole, with his eye pressed against it, he saw the dragon coiled in his enclosed wagon. The dragon had a crest of bone on his skull and he surrounded an automaton. The claws on a front talon tested the construction in some subtle fashion. Was Ophion attempting to fix the automaton?

  Suddenly, the dragon raised his sinuous head. Intelligence swirled in his eyes as he opened his fanged maw. Like a striking snake, Ophion lunged and used his talons to make magical passes in the air.

  With a cry of pain, Himilco fell back, the emerald tumbling from his lap and rolling across the floor. He flickered in and out of consciousness.

  As he lay there, Himilco slowly regained his wits. By Bel Ruk, his head felt as if someone had struck him between the eyes. His mouth tasted foul. He needed wine to wash out the taste.

  The wagon’s flap jerked aside then. Painful sunlight poured in as Dabar climbed inside. The Nasamon moved strangely, almost sinuously, as if he couldn’t decide whether to slither on his belly or walk as a man.

  Himilco found that ominous. He tried to sit up, tried to speak. Did Ophion’s will possess the Nasamon?

  Dabar knelt beside him, fumbled at his belt and drew a dagger. The Nasamon placed the razor-edge against Himilco’s throat.

  “What is this you try, sorcerer?” Dabar whispered. “You seek to gaze on me with your magical trinket.”

  “Mercy, Great One. I-I became afraid that you would punish me for touching the knife of Ankey. I needed to know your intentions.”

  “You lie,” Dabar whispered. “You are a schemer, a treacherous ally and a grasper, one who yearns to rise above his station. If not for your singular skill I would slice your throat this instant and be rid of your odious company.”

  “What skill?” Himilco asked.

  Dabar’s features twisted into a parody of a smile. “You will learn soon enough, sorcerer. You will aid me, and I will reward you with power.”

  “How will I aid you?”

  The smile vanished as the edge of the knife pressed against the skin of Himilco’s throat. “Do not seek to learn my secrets, human. I am Ophion, and I am weary of this world. The filth, the diseases, the ignorance and the strange laws concerning blood, gods and sorcery…” Dabar withdrew his knife and sheathed it. “Attempt another spell against me and I will subdue your will, making you like this one. It will make my return home more difficult—” Dabar shook his head. “I have said enough. Do you understand my orders?”

  “Yes, Great One.”

  “Do not let your imagination destroy you, Himilco. Play your part as I demand, and you will survive and grow stronger. Attempt to decipher my words and you will suffer more than you have ever thought possible.”

  “I obey, Great One,” Himilco said.

  “See that you do. I will not warn you again.”

  As Dabar finished speaking, he closed his eyes and shuddered. A moment later, Dabar reeled against a coffin. He opened his eyes and glanced around in fear. Shock filled his face as he spied Himilco. He drew his knife, crouching, aiming the dagger at the Karchedonian.

  “How did I get here?” Dabar asked.

  “You were sleepwalking,” Himilco said.

  Dabar ran a hand over his eyes and his fingers tightened around the dagger hilt. “What did you do to me?”

  Himilco winced as he sat up. “Look at the mark on my throat. It is what you did to me that matters. Don’t you remember anything?”

  Dabar licked his lips. He nodded curtly, but it was clear he remembered nothing. He sheathed the knife, appeared as if he wanted to say something else and then took his leave.

  Himilco frowned as he searched for the emerald in the shadows on the floor. He had much to think about.

  -17-

  That night, a dark shape swooped upon the desert. Moments later, Elissa Magonid ran lightly across the sand. When she stopped, the tip of the skay thumped down. Elissa unhooked herself from the harness and began to break down the skay. She shoveled, burying her precious craft. Lastly, she smoothed out her tracks and digging marks. The wind should erase the rest.

  She composed herself, steadying her breathing. Under the blaze of stars, she began to paper walk, only leaving faint tracks. It was a delicate art, but she excelled at it. Soon, she neared the oasis, crouched and watched the camp. Two hours later, she rose from her crouch and moved to the pond. She drank, filled her canteens and slunk like a panther to the least-entered wagon. The Nasamons on guard moved sluggishly as it was the early morning hours and they had grown accustomed to being here undisturbed.

  On tiptoe, Elissa entered her chosen wagon. The thrill of daring sang through her blood, which helped dampen her fear. This was crazed, but this is what made Rhunes so feared. She was attempting a legendary feat, one wildly bold and clever.

  She eased onto the second-highest coffin. Then, she opened the highest one’s lid. The sight repulsed her. A huge beetle squatted on a Gepid’s forehead, with a stinger jabbed into the man’s skin. By minute signs, she realized that both the beetle and barbarian lived. Not for long. Using her thumb, she squashed the beetle so green juices oozed from it. A half-second later, she slid a stiletto into the warrior’s heart. His eyes flew open as he sagged, and sluggish blood trickled from his lips.

  The next half-hour almost proved her undoing. A guard investigated a thump in the night. Elissa barely heard his footsteps in time.

  The guard opened the wagon’s flap. Elissa froze…and almost cracked a capsule of cluthe as he peered into the darkness. The barbarian muttered, shrugged and departed. It had been too dark for him to see and he hadn’t carried a torch. She couldn’t count on luck again. She needed to be more careful.

  After a suitable length of time, Elissa carted the dead Gepid on her back and into the desert. She buried him and paper-walked back to the oasis, obliterating all tracks. She worked fast in the wagon, sopped blood and sprinkled dust where particles had been disturbed. She lay in the vacated coffin, with canteens beside her. With two spike-claws, she drew the lid back into place until she heard a telltale snick. She breathed deeply and began to relax. She would enter a meditative state and trust her Rhune intuition to alert her at the needed time to escape. If this worked—

  It will work. It will be your greatest feat. She hoped so. The alternatives were too grisly to contemplate.

  -18-

  Two days later in the early morning, Himilco sat up from his mat. He heard braying mules and the jingle of harnesses. Two Gepids entered, loading water-skins into open space.

  “What occurs?” Himilco asked the Gray Wolf, who followed behind the two.

  “We’re moving out.”

  “To go where?” asked Himilco.

  “Deeper into the desert,” the Gray Wolf said. “Dabar told me we’re headed for a shrine to Bel Ruk. The Prophetess went to it once and spoke there with the god.”

  Himilco recalled an old conversation with the Prophetess. She had asked about the great obsidian block in the Temple of Bel Ruk. He had blurted out that it was the god. It had been a trick question. She had told him the fifty-ton block of stone was a gateway, an anchoring stone. She said Bel Ruk traveled and had spoken to her at a desert shrine.

  Several days ago, Ophion had said he grew weary of this
world. Might the statement have had something to do with a gateway?

  Himilco shook his head. It felt as if he had touched on the answer, but that he still knew too little. What was Ophion, and why did the dragon need to go to the desert shrine—after first looting the Temple of Ankey in Mogador?

  Whatever the reason, Ophion needs me to do something sorcerous for him.

  “What are you muttering about?” the Gray Wolf asked.

  Himilco looked up, wondering if he had spoken his thoughts aloud. He smiled insincerely, keenly aware that the walls had ears. “I am Ophion’s faithful friend, and I will do everything in my power to help him in his quest.”

  Understanding filled the Gray Wolf’s eyes and he nodded. “You are wise, Lord. As you do, I will do likewise.”

  “Excellent,” Himilco said. “Then let us enjoy the ride so we may do as needed when the time comes.”

  -19-

  Elissa’s eyes snapped open. The lack of vibration, the lack of creaking sounds or lurches told her the wagon had stopped. Soon, there were footfalls, a cough and the scrape of a boot: Gepids were in the wagon. She heard mutters and the scrape of coffin-wood.

  “He said unload them all,” a man said.

  Elissa breathed deeply as she tried to awaken her muscles. They were stiff. Her reactions would be slow. She popped a yellow capsule into her mouth before she eased a dagger from its sheath.

  “You climb up this time,” a man said.

  Elissa tried to figure out what was happening and what she should do. Likely, if the warriors took out the coffins, they would bunch them on the sand outside. That would work against her. She needed to use surprise now and escape.

  Elissa slammed her knees up against the lid and pushed with her palms. The lid banged off sideways. In the wagon’s lantern-light, she stared into a Gepid’s terrified face. She sat up, crunched the capsule with her teeth and blew a yellow cloud at him. She was already moving as he dropped his end of the coffin. She leaped like a cat onto a second Gepid and blew cluthe into his face. She rolled to avoid the poison. Both warriors toppled dead, thumping onto the boards. A head poked through the curtain in time to receive the last yellow cloud.

  Then Elissa landed on sand outside. Stars blazed overhead. A bloated moon rose out of the eastern horizon. The wagons were parked near a massive stone structure lying on its side, perhaps some ancient temple.

  Dwarfed by the architecture, men with torches entered it. Elissa spat, moved leftward and spat again to remove the final particles of cluthe from her mouth. Hers was the last wagon in the line. Weary mules stood mutedly in their teams. The Gepids had laid the coffins in a row beside the middle wagon.

  It was then that the gift came, a piece of luck. The wagons had stopped near the ruin. The vast and midnight expanse of the Great Sand Belt surrounded them. This was the middle of nowhere. The gift was Himilco hitching his breeches. He stood alone behind a boulder, unseen by anyone but her.

  Instinct told Elissa he didn’t know she was here. He would not have watered the desert otherwise. She glided toward him. She had just used poison and therefore didn’t dare crack another capsule. She decided the garrote was wrong for this, as it was too slow. A knife thrust in the back would cause him to howl. Every Gepid and Nasamon would be on her.

  A knife slash across his throat, done from behind, was much harder than most people realized. She had a more daring plan. Soundlessly, she moved toward him. Her nearly empty water-skins still lay in the coffin. The thumps of falling Gepids in her wagon hadn’t attracted attention yet because there were many thumps going on outside.

  She moved to the traitor and shoved from behind as she’d seen one of the Nasamons do to him before. It made him stumble. She pushed again. Himilco stumbled less than before and turned with a scowl. The sight of her knife erased the scowl.

  “Walk backward,” she whispered. She poked the knifepoint at his belly. He stumbled away from it. Grinning, she poked again. He must have realized her plan—to get him far enough from the caravan to kill him at her leisure.

  He stopped, and he held up his hands. “Listen to me,” he whispered.

  “You listen,” she said.

  “I know you hate me,” Himilco said.

  She laid the edge of the blade against his cheek. “Speak again, and I’ll cut you. There is poison on the blade.” It wasn’t true, but the traitor didn’t know that.

  Fear showed in the whites of his eyes. He struggled to hold his tongue. Apparently, it was too much of an effort.

  Himilco opened his mouth. Elissa slammed her knee against his groin, removed the knife and pressed a hand over his mouth as he tried to scream. He crumpled, might have thrashed, but she rolled him onto his belly. He cupped his groin as he shuddered. She pressed a knee on his back and laid the blade against his neck.

  “You filthy traitor,” she whispered. She should cut him and be done with it. It was against the Rhune code to talk to the dead.

  With a sudden and surprisingly strong twist, he moved his mouth out of her grasp. “Before you kill me,” he said in a rush. “I have to tell you. The winged one you saw in Mogador is a dragon. His name is Ophion.”

  “Your words are meaningless,” she whispered. That wasn’t true. She was curious indeed.

  “I have a magic emerald,” Himilco said. “I see who I want in it. I’ve seen you before.”

  Ah, so that was how he’d known about her in Mogador.

  “Where is the emerald?” she demanded.

  “The dragon stole it from me.”

  “A likely story,” Elissa said.

  “The dragon distrusts me. I’m being punished.”

  Elissa’s eyes narrowed. Himilco tried to trick her.

  “Using the emerald,” he said, “I looked into his wagon.”

  “You’re a liar, priest. You’ve always been a liar and an ingrate. My father helped you, and you killed him. You killed his wife and my brothers. Now I’m going to rid the world of you.”

  “Ophion says he has grown weary of the world.”

  Elissa paused. “What are you babbling about?”

  “He desires me to cast a spell for him,” Himilco said. “I believe it has something to do with a realm called Avernus.”

  Elissa had heard her father speak about the otherworldly realm before. What did Himilco know about it?

  “I know you saw the murals in Ankey’s Temple,” Himilco said.

  The desire to slice the traitor’s throat almost overpowered her curiosity about why the dragon had come out here.

  “It was the black lotus that mocked you before,” Himilco said, twisting his head to glance back at her. “I deeply regret my boasting when you were in my power in the temple. Notice that I did not harm you.”

  Kill him, the Rhune part of her said.

  “Your father knew about Avernus,” he whispered. “Surely, you’ve heard him speak about it.”

  “I have,” Elissa admitted. “Tell me what you know if you wish to keep on living.”

  “First, let me up so we may speak as civilized people.”

  Elissa realized he was talking to distract her, to stay alive long enough for something to happen.

  Then Himilco wriggled and possibly moved his hands under his belly. He shouted an archaic word—a sorcerous word! A force emanated from him like a bubble. It lifted Elissa off his back and flung her backward. At that moment, a milky beam lit the night. The beam stabbed where Elissa had just crouched over Himilco.

  Elissa jumped up like a cat as another milky beam crackled against the sand where she just been. Sand exploded, showering the ground as fused bits of glass. Elissa sprinted faster than a man could run.

  She had time enough to glimpse a loathsome sight. The dragon used the claws of a talon to clutch a large crossbow but without the bow. The milky beam emitted from it. The beam sizzled and fused sand into glass.

  Ophion screeched, holstered the weapon and began to weave his front legs as a spell-caster might his arms.

  Elissa sprinte
d, dodged boulders and put distance between herself and the dragon. She watched the sky, having him seen him fly before. But the dragon didn’t launch himself airborne. Was he letting her escape? If so, why? Why didn’t the dragon fly after her?

  Next time—she swore a Rhune oath. Next time, she wouldn’t listen to the sly sorcerer. Next time, she would plunge the dagger into his back and take the consequences. The traitor had escaped her yet again. How could she have been such a fool?

  -20-

  Himilco trembled before Ophion’s wrath. The dragon towered over him, hissing, his forked tongue flickering from his snout. The dragon swayed from side to side, and his wings twitched as if he meant to lunge and swallow Himilco alive.

  “You conversed with her,” the dragon accused.

  Himilco bowed low. “She surprised me, Great One. She—”

  “Two Gepids lie dead in the last wagon. She resided in a coffin, in one of my wagons. She is your confederate.”

  Himilco shook his head. “She hunts to slay me, Great One. She is a full-blooded Rhune assassin.”

  “Desist! I know she is Zarius Magonid’s daughter.” The tongue flickering stopped. “She has fled into the desert. So go, fetch your staff and drink a half flagon of your strongest wine to bolster your courage. You will join me on the final lap. After generations on this foul mud-ball, I will finally return home. Hurry, the congested air sickens me.”

  In fear of Ophion and of Elissa’s possible return, Himilco hurried to his wagon. He unlocked his chest, took out the gnarled staff, sipped wine and swished it through his mouth so it would be on his breath, and bolted down bread and cold meat. He wiped his face with a damp cloth. The Rhune had ridden in a coffin. She was daring. She’d almost killed him. Next time, she would not hesitate. And the dragon—

  Himilco loathed the creature. He had always hated snakes and crocodiles. They stared with reptilian coldness—although the dragon had spoken with passion just now. What monstrous emotions guided such a creature?